Peter Rose
Bio
Collections of "my" vocal essays with additions, are available as printed books ASIN 197680615 and 1980878536 also some fictional works and some e books available at Amazon;-
amazon.com/author/healthandfunpeterrose
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Stories (353)
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Night is his friend
Night is his friend A battle that never occurred. The barn owl sat motionless, her talons gripping the slender birch branch with effortless ease. Its head turned, thus rotating that heart shaped sound collecting dish, towards the most tiny of sounds. No human ear could have detected the sound of minute movement in the grass and bracken some fifty feet away. The patience of the hunter took over, stillness became the owl, a silent statue showing no sign of the predatory aggression that was coiled up within. The mouse moved onto shorter grass, silent wings glided the owl to its prey, the mouse's life ended so that the owl chicks could eat and so continue their lives. Neither mouse nor owl realized that this tiny part of life, this tiny event in the vastness of creation, had been observed. The elderly man waiting until the predator left with its prey, then he eased cramped limbs and stretched up his arms. He made no sound but so many tiny creatures of natures night, sensed his presence and silently crawled or slid away. His knife, secure in a scabbard fastened to his belt and to his leg, to ensure no movement, was as razor sharp as the owls talons, and just as deadly to his prey. At twelve inches long it was almost a small sword. The hilt bound in hemp, the blade sharpened on both edges and a point ground down to give a needle like ability to penetrate, the steel was etched to take away reflection. Polished reflective display was not part of the night hunters way. He would never use a torch, no light to show others his position. He crouched down and looked up, using the natural light of the stars to show the darker shadows, the night is vary rarely “pitch black,” it is so very unusual for darkness to be so complete that the skilled and experienced, needed illumination. Maybe in a cave, late at night with a curtain across the entrance, such darkness can be found but here in the forest and woodland such darkness did not exist.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
Wings of silence
Wings of silence. A minor problem solved. We stood silent and motionless, the moon gave enough light to see the clearing. We were in the shadows, this is our life, our “modus operandi” the shadows and the darkness our friends. Probably our only friends. We stood, Mary and I, the twin bastions of truth and of death. A barn owl glided across the clearing, wings still and silent, the ultimate night time killer, so beautiful to see, so deadly to its prey. Silent wings and incredible hearing and night vision allowed this creature of the night to hunt, kill and feed its chicks. To us it was a friendly omen, a creature that brings death silently in the night; just as we do. A good omen, as the owl shares our need for darkness and shares our ability to strike swiftly, without warning. The only difference is that we did not eat those that we kill, in a way we do kill to eat, since we only kill those we are paid to and some of the fees go towards our food. There was another difference, we do not wear white to go about our hunting, we were head to foot in black including face covering ski masks. This was a standard precaution just in case a mistake was made and our presence was noticed by some sort of security device. The trees were in full leaf, the gentle breeze moving them so slightly that only the amazing hearing of the owl would hear it. That hearing which enables the hunter to hear a mouse move in the grass twenty feet below its gliding flight path.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
The hedge had eyes
The hedge had eyes. A casual observer By Peter Rose The men walked along the narrow lane in single file, they were about ten feet apart all silent and watchful. There were six of them all about the same age, twenty five as a guess, all over six feet tall, athletic in build. They walked with easy practised paces. They all carried rucksacks. They wore a variety of casual country style clothes, at first glance they would have merged into any group of young people out for a stroll. Look closer and although no weapons showed but they were military. The signs were obvious if you knew what you were looking for. I was walking my dog in the opposite direction when I first saw them, they each nodded a greeting as I passed but only the lead walker had given me a serious looking at, checking me out to establish if I was a face he should know and then if I was carrying anything concealed. Satisfied on both counts he nodded and the rest followed his appraisal.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
Britain and its Monarchy
Britain and its monarchy Information for overseas friends Modern people will not like this and in fact the ultra-woke will be outraged and deplore it but from the time that the last ice age retreated, until about 1950, Britain was a warrior nation, A people where many thrived on physical conflict. A nation forged by almost continuous warfare, who ended up good at war. The heritage of the ruling kings, and queen; the whole system of governance by divine right, was based on war. The original stone age settlers have left evidence of violence, the later iron age Celtic tribes are known to have fought each other and then the invading Romans, Saxons and Nordic people. For a very long time what we call Britain was several kingdoms who fought each other unless there was a greater danger from invaders when they formed loose alliances to fight against these invaders. A largely Saxon Britain (actually a mixture of all the races who had lived and fought over the land) was taken over by the Normans- William the conqueror. The Normans had to fight to establish total control, various civil wars followed and during the Tudor reigns, the fighting became international. (Henry 8th breaking up the power of the Roman Catholic church, Elizabeth the 1st being relativity tolerant of a variety of Christian teachings etc.) Then came conflict between the king and the powerful lords who curbed the absolute power of the king in 12.15 ( Magna Carter) Power gradually ebbed away from the kings until the biggest civil war so far; between forces loyal to the king and those serving “Parliament.” This led to a brief period when Britain was in effect, a republic. Dissatisfaction with the way we were governed set in and the king was invited back with the power to impose their own ideas hugely curtailed. Gradually all real power was transferred to the Parliament and its elected government but the head of state had to be someone above party politics and the kings and queens who followed fitted nicely into this role. All of this history led eventually to the Victorian period and by then forging a nation who accepted warfare, was complete. A nation who held certain principles to be so important they would kill to uphold them. As with all nations, as the general population became more materialist and relatively wealthy, the attraction of warfare as a means of social progress eroded. The invention of machines that could kill from a distance totally ended even the pretence of chivalry in warfare and so Britain gradually lost its warrior mentality.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Journal
"City" minds and climate change.
Ban city minds from governing all of us. Enforcing change to rural ways to satisfy urban idealism. Random Observation-Opinion with out verifiable data--- people with “city” minds (not necessarily location of birth) do not make good travellers, because a good traveller leaves no footprint and city minds are so insecure they have to make sure everyone knows they exist and so they have to leave markers to show they have been there.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Longevity
The truth about Arthurian legends
The truth, (one probable truth) about the Grail. Arthur and the legends Later stories about the Grail quests of Arthur and his “Knights of the round table” are based on the idea that the “Grail” is the cup used by Jesus at the last supper before his arrest. Other versions claim the Grail is the cup that was used to collect the blood of Jesus as he was physically bleeding to death on the cross.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
Angels and mercy
Angels and mercy! Reality and conflict. In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it. This was and is my experience but now I have had the strangest and most unsettling period of my life and this has caused me to examine the whole concept of “mercy.” Why am I rambling on about mercy? It came about like this.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
Is failure beneficial?
Is failure beneficial? The person who has never failed, has never made anything It may be better to fail in every attempt to be creative, than it is to to sit all day and every day and watch others succeed. Do we learn to sing better just by watching established singing stars perform? We may see things we need to copy but unless we stand up and sing, we have gained nothing. Unless we try and fail, we learn nothing. Of course it naturally follows that if we try and succeed then we also learn something.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Longevity
Time passes and death calls
Time passes and death calls. Patience is the only virtue that matters The night was as still as a long forgotten death, nothing stirred and no sound escaped the darkened room. To some this absolute silence would be as welcome as tranquility, to others it is one more burden in a life so devoid of interest, that the longing for any sort of action becomes a craving, even harmful action is preferred to nothing.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
A crime against me!
A crime against me! No peace for the wicked In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it. The guy lying at my feet was Caucasian, about twenty years old, but looked forty, he was dirty and dressed in rags but he had several thousand pounds in his pockets. Several thousand of my pounds. He begged for mercy but got nothing, I was surprised he even knew the word, his entire miserable drug riddled apology for a life he had been in the gutter. Addicted at twelve years old he had fed his habit with every sort of sordid degradation known to man. He had stolen from me and expected mercy? Where was his home planet? I put my gloved hand into his torn jacket pocket and retrieved my cash, well most of it he had only had time to shoot up about ten bags so less that a few hundred had gone. His life ended much as I guess it began, in a cold dark damp back alley that smelt like a rubbish heap. There were no cameras here no prying eyes, no care in any eyes that were about at that time of the night. He was lucky, his pain was over, this mortal life so twisted in values, so desperate yet without a single spark of light or comfort, had ended. He should have been as glad as I was. I walked from the alley back to my car and drove away without putting on the lights, until I was into the main road, now there was not any way to connect me to that alley and the body that lay there.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
Life changing money
Life changing money A find We all have our day dreams, we all have our night dreams, these we have far less control of. It is only the very lucky few who do not wish that they could change at least some aspect of their lives. The chance to change mine came with some conditions, may be conditions that my profession has trained me to cope with but we will get to that later, I was on a routine observation job when I came across a suitcase that was heavy and did not seem connected with anything at all.
By Peter Rose4 years ago in Fiction
